


Inspired by Her Fire

by Llama1412



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Episode Related, Gen, Missing Scene, POV Nonhuman
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:27:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26799541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Llama1412/pseuds/Llama1412
Summary: Contains spoilers for The Witcher 2! Saskia's POV during the Council Meeting where Saskia introduces Iorveth.
Relationships: Iorveth & Saskia
Comments: 2
Kudos: 14





	Inspired by Her Fire

**Author's Note:**

> I really wanted to explore writing a different kinda character, so have some Saskia POV of [this scene.](https://youtu.be/uF1A3PiwxhM)  
> WARNING: If you don't know why this is tagged "nonhuman POV", turn back now or get spoiled. Like, a big spoiler for the end of Iorveth's path.

“Now, to worldly matters,” Saskia said, bringing the council meeting in Vergen to order. She stood in front of a large table that smelled of old stone, casting her awareness around those surrounding it. Her tongue flicked out to scent the air, and but even before she could taste it, she knew they were afraid.

They were right to be. She was too, but if they were to die, they would at least show the world that a different way of life could be possible – a way of life where all people: dragon, elf, dwarf, or human could sit and enjoy a meal together without fear, could live alongside each other as neighbors and friends, could build a land free of prejudice.

Saskia stood with her back to the long hallway into the council chamber, and beyond it, she could sense the _pain-iron-freshrain-wetsoil_ that was Iorveth, waiting for her cue to enter. He radiated pure stubbornness and determination and she was glad for it, glad to brace her back against it and face the _fear-rage-terror-resignation_ around the table.

On her right, three _almost-too-small-to-see-when-still,_ _red-hot-like-a-forge_ dwarves gave off an air of suicidal intentionality – they didn’t believe they could win this, but they were going to do their best anyway and take down as many Kaedwenis as possible. The five _warm-cozy-hearthfire_ humans reeked of the _acrid-salt-sweat_ of new recruits facing their first battle, though Prince Stennis was holding himself together better than the lords. Next to her, the _unbreakablesteel-shiveringozone_ that was Philippa flickered oddly in Saskia’s senses, as the sorceress always did when she grew still, her power blazing around her like a flameless beacon and Saskia still felt that low sense of awe that such a creature had chosen to follow her. The _iron-leather-preyhorse_ scent of Geralt was the only thing that told her where he was, the slow _thump-thump-thump_ of his heart almost impossible to catch over the deluge of information.

The one scent that was missing from the room was the _shortbreath-fastpulse-sunshinesmell-tinglinganticipation_ of hope.

Well, that just wouldn’t do. But to get the gathered lords to accept the source of their hope would take careful guidance.

“How many are we?” She asked as though she didn’t have their fighting force memorized.

The _tilledearth-batteredsteel_ dwarf beside her sighed. “Saskia,” Yarpen Zigrin grouched, “you know well–”

“How many?” Saskia demanded, turning to face the bright _molten-steel-and-earth_ glow that had always endeared her to dwarves.

“We dwarves are near two hundred, but don’t judge us by our number!” The other dwarves nodded emphatically, their _fire-stone-metal-forge_ burning in her senses reminding her of her earliest memories, learning to fly amongst spacious stone caverns with _fire-dragon-father_ gliding beside her.

On the other side of the table, the merchant representing the human peasants said, “a half thousand peasants will come, though you’ll get no precise count.”

Saskia met Stennis’s gaze across the table – or she tried, anyway. The details like where humans (or elves or dwarves or others) kept their eyes tended to escape her. She was so much better at seeing things that _moved._ “My lords?”

Stennis stayed silent, letting the lord smelling of _wool-liquor-fear_ speak instead. “Fifty three knights and another two hundred armed men.” The stench of _resignation-fear-adrenaline_ peaked around the room and the lord concluded, “not enough.”

Saskia almost wrinkled her nose at the smell, but forced herself to remain steady. They needed to face the reality before them before they would be ready to accept Iorveth’s help. “Henselt leads five thousand, five to one against us. What think you of that?”

“We are few, they are many. But we have our walls, low though they be,” the lord’s scent spiked with disdain as he emphasized _low_ and Saskia’s eyes narrowed. “If we had archers, who knows…”

“Oooh, for a regiment of heavy arbalists from Lyria,” Yarpen bemoaned, setting Saskia’s next words up perfectly.

“We have something better. Iorveth’s elves. Scoia'tael.” 

Outside, _pain-iron-freshrain-wetsoil-Iorveth_ perked up at his name, and as soon as she finished speaking, the door opened and Iorveth’s boots deliberately scuffed against the stone floor, alerting the gathered council to their new arrival.

Saskia met each person’s gaze as they looked around in confusion and the presence that meant elf twinkled in her senses like starlight. Iorveth stepped up behind her right shoulder, oozing an air of _danger-power-determination_ and the dwarf who’d arrived with Geralt, the one who was _steel-gruff-kind,_ pushed to his feet, the rest of the table quickly following.

Saskia rose, facing the spike of _fear_ with stern calmness. “Gentlemen,” she said – though that wasn’t precisely right. Dwarves thought humans didn’t understand their system of gender, and while she wasn’t human, Saskia could admit that she wasn’t sure of a better term to encompass _men and dwarves-who-don’t-care-about-pronouns_ and _dwarf-who-very-much-cares-and-is-a-man._ “I give you Iorveth.”

“What do you seek here, murderer?” The peasant representative demanded.

Saskia turned to him, but before she needed to say anything, Iorveth ignored the question and spoke clearly, “a hundred of the north’s best archers await your orders, Dragonslayer.”

Her face twitched in a way that meant ‘smile’ to those who saw such details, and she clenched her cheeks to hold it down, even as _warm-light-grateful_ flooded through her and she again wondered at the fact that she’d inspired this elf, who always smelled of _pain-pain-pain,_ to follow her.

Zoltan’s rumbling voice said, “you wished for archers. Here they are!” and Saskia couldn’t have put it better if she’d tried. 

“I take no pleasure in fraternizing with elves,” Yarpen said and Saskia reminded herself that while there was obviously _much_ work to be done in creating a land of equality, she had a battle to win first. “But even a shit-coated stick can be a weapon.”

Iorveth radiated amusement at that and Saskia had to admit, she did adore the way Yarpen’s way of phrasing things always cut through to the heart of the matter.

“He burned down the villages of many in my hoard!” yelled the human lord who hadn’t yet spoken up. 

Stennis smelled clearly of _disgust_ as he waved his arms in movement that Saskia could finally _see._ “The free peasantry is one thing, but a criminal with a price on his head in all the Northern Realms!? This is too much.”

Iorveth didn’t even acknowledge Stennis. “Saskia,” he began, turning to her, “say the word and we’ll depart.”

Saskia looked around the table again, pretending that she could meet each person’s eyes. Her senses automatically reached out, reading the surface thoughts and emotions of the group in a way that was wholly natural to dragons. 

_The elves will kill us all,_ the peasant representative despaired, _there won’t be anything left for Kaedwen to slaughter._

_Filth,_ Stennis and his lords thought, _criminal. Wouldn’t trust an elf even as a body shield._

The dwarves, at least, were finally swelling with hope – though Cecil Burdon’s thoughts held a note of _the depths we’re willing to sink to._

“Hear me out,” Saskia spread her arms. “Iorveth came to fight for me. I trust him and I know that he’ll stay the course. Just like each of you,” she said pointedly.

Taking no note of her hint, the peasant representative interrupted, “how could you know that? He’s an elf! Treason runs in his veins.”

“He’s been fighting humans for a century!”

“But for the first time in scores of years,” Saskia said, “his fight makes _sense._ The Scoia’tael know no peace. They’ve died for Nilfgaard, for the Valley of the Flowers in vain.” Iorveth’s fury at the slight against his race turned to sour shame as she spoke, and she wished it wasn’t necessary to inflict this pain.

_She_ knew that Iorveth had done the best he could. But she also knew that _Iorveth_ believed that the way the Scoia’tael had been used in the past was his fault.

“They’ve been betrayed and cheated, and now they have a new goal! The Pontar Valley could be the first state where no man would have to fear elven arrows when venturing beyond city walls. And elves and dwarves wouldn’t live in ghettos or on reservations. First, however,” she hardened her gaze, “we have a battle to win. You know who we’re up against. It’s a splendid army, brave and well led. They cannot be scared off or routed, they have to be killed. I want Iorveth to sit at the same table as we do. I want him to kill Kaedweni for us. And I assure you that he’ll do so with a smile, if only you let him.”

“If I’m to see a smile on that skinny face,” Yarpen began, radiating _consideration-hope-curiosity,_ “I’m in. Iorveth stays.”

She wasn’t expecting the spike of _interest_ that mixed in with Iorveth’s amusement, but she didn’t have a chance to think about that before the vote began.

“Bloody hell,” the peasant representative said. “Father’s turning in his grave, but a must ‘s a must. I say aye.”

Stennis stood unyielding. “Nay.”

The lord who stank of _wool-liquor-fear_ raised his arm, pointing at Iorveth. “You killed my men, elf. Remember them?”

“If I hadn’t killed them, they’d’ve killed me,” Iorveth said, remorseless.

“All right,” the lord reluctantly agreed, “for the sake of better times – and for Kaedwen’s doom – aye!”

“Down with the sons of bitches!” Zoltan yelled, and Saskia finally let herself smile, raising her glass to all of them.

They could do this. As long as her men _believed_ in their cause, believed in _her,_ they could do this. Philippa thought so too, confident and resolved, and Iorveth was _here,_ fighting beside Saskia. That said more than words ever could about his support.

“Cheers!” 

Saskia brought her cup to her lips, and the swallow of ale was immediately followed with a rush of _dizzy-pain-disorientation_ and she fell to the ground, Iorveth rushing towards her smelling of _concern-fear-pain_ was the last thing she saw before the world went black.

**Author's Note:**

> For those who haven't watched/played the Witcher 2, Saskia's drink was poisoned and Geralt and Iorveth and Philippa work to save her.  
> Oh, also, Saskia is a dragon. That's kinda significant.


End file.
